What does death feel like?
For the living, it is naturally an unanswerable question.
But for Barty Crouch Jr., the question had just been answered.
Upon personally ending his own life, his first sensation was a complete cessation of thought. His consciousness felt as though it had been violently snipped like a wire. All thoughts, emotions, and memories ground to an abrupt, silent halt.
Then came the darkness. Pure, boundless, suffocating darkness.
He had no perception of time. He didn't know how long he drifted, but suddenly, his consciousness began to coalesce once more. It felt as though an invisible force was forcefully propelling him forward at an inconceivable speed.
Surprisingly, he did not feel any discomfort.
And then, he saw light.
The very first thing Barty Crouch Jr. did upon opening his eyes was check his own body. After confirming he wasn't missing any limbs, he finally took in his surroundings.
He found himself standing in the center of an eerie, desolate wasteland. The sky was bright, yet there was no visible sun. A thin, pervasive layer of white mist hung in the still air.
However, the most unsettling detail was the man standing merely a few paces away. He was draped in a dark cloak, staring at Barty unblinkingly.
Barty instantly went on high alert.
He instinctively reached for his waist, but his fingers grasped only empty air. His wand was gone.
"Where am I? Answer me!" he barked at the cloaked man.
The man slowly lowered his hood. His first words were: "You are already dead, young man."
'Dead?'
Barty finally recalled the indisputable fact that he had just committed suicide.
"Hah. I am dead. I am dead," he muttered, turning in a slow circle, hyper-aware of the solid ground beneath his feet. It all felt so incredibly real.
"Then this is the realm of the dead?" He quickly regained his composure.
"Yes, and no," the man replied. "I intercepted your soul. That is why you are able to perceive me."
'Intercepted my soul?'
Hearing such an absurd claim, Barty paused. He forced down his shock and asked in a low, dangerous voice, "Who are you?"
The man answered with absolute calm: "You may call me Death, or you may call me Sclep."
'Death.'
Barty's mind went entirely blank for a fraction of a second.
'Impossible.'
Every witch and wizard had grown up hearing legends about Death. But legends were ultimately just legends. No one had ever truly seen Death, nor did anyone know if such an entity even existed, let alone what form it might take.
Yet now... Barty had no choice but to believe it.
"Then why have you intercepted me?" he asked, his tone turning incredibly solemn.
"To perform a task for me," Sclep said, his voice completely devoid of inflection. "In exchange, I can temporarily return you to the world of the living. If you complete the task successfully, you will be permitted to remain there permanently."
Barty's pupils constricted violently.
"You can resurrect me?" he asked, his voice tight with sudden, desperate tension.
Sclep gave a faint nod. "This is your one and only chance. Once you truly step into the realm of the dead, there will be no turning back. You will become completely and eternally dead."
Barty asked immediately, "What is it you want me to do?"
Sclep did not answer right away. Instead, he began to slowly pace a circle around Barty.
Barty stood perfectly still, yet he felt as though this man claiming to be 'Death' was peering straight through his soul, laying bare every secret he possessed.
Sclep stopped in front of him once more.
"I can sense it," he said. "Your death is connected to my enemy."
"Death has enemies?"
"Indeed," Sclep continued. "And quite a few of them. The task I require of you is to kill this specific individual and send his soul to me."
"I would be more than happy to oblige," Barty answered with zero hesitation. "So, who is it you want dead?"
"A boy named Maurise," Sclep said.
'Maurise!'
Barty's jaw clamped shut so hard his teeth audibly ground together. He quickly reined in his fury and asked, "What is his full name?"
Sclep shook his head. "I do not know. But judging from your reaction, I believe you know exactly who I am referring to."
Barty's expression darkened precipitously. "Maurise Black."
Without a doubt, it could only be Maurise Black. Who exactly was that student who had forced him into a corner? How could he possibly be an enemy of Death?
"Maurise Black," Sclep repeated. He drew a wand from beneath his cloak and took a step forward. "I am going to bestow upon you a surge of magical power. When you return, you will find your physical body is already beginning to rot. Do not worry; this magic will severely retard the decomposition process, and it will grant you the power necessary to kill Maurise Black."
"Once you complete this task, I will grant you true, permanent life."
Barty's breath hitched. A sliver of suspicion quickly crossed his face. "Then why do you not kill him yourself?"
If he truly was Death, surely erasing a single, ordinary wizard from existence would require less effort than blowing away a speck of dust.
Sclep did not attempt to hide the truth.
"I am confined to this place," he said, turning slowly to face the distant, pale gray horizon. "I cannot set foot in the world of the living."
Barty nodded slowly, deciding not to press the issue further.
"Our conversation ends here."
Sclep raised his wand and pointed it directly at Barty's forehead. "Remember, do not keep me waiting for too long. Furthermore, our arrangement is strictly confidential. If you attempt to reveal my existence to anyone, your soul will be instantaneously annihilated."
"I understand." Barty's face showed not a shred of fear, only burning, manic excitement.
In an instant, darkness swallowed his consciousness once more.
---
"Ugh... ah..."
Barty struggled to push himself up, experimentally flexing his limbs.
Currently, he could barely feel his own body, yet he was perfectly capable of controlling it. The sensation was incredibly bizarre, akin to trying to blindly identify an object while wearing thick, heavy fur gloves.
As his vision slowly cleared, Barty began to look around.
The lighting was exceedingly dim. Only a few sparse shafts of moonlight managed to filter through the gaps in the window shutters.
He recognized the room instantly—it was his bedroom. There was even a Quidditch poster peeling off the wall, a gift from his house-elf Winky long ago.
Barty attempted to stand, only to realize he was lying inside a large wooden box.
No, not a wooden box.
A coffin.
He pressed a hand flat against his chest, directly over his heart. There was absolutely no heartbeat, no rise and fall of breath. Yet, his body was moving entirely in accordance with his will.
This profound contradiction caused him to space out for a brief moment.
'It wasn't a hallucination.'
Everything he had just seen and heard in that wasteland was real.
'Excellent.'
Barty climbed out of the coffin, turned on his heel, and walked straight out of his room toward the parlor.
No lamps were lit in the parlor. Only the dying embers in the fireplace cast a faint, ruddy glow, illuminating a solitary figure sitting in the gloom.
It was his father, Bartemius Crouch Sr., the man who shared his name.
Mr. Crouch was sitting stiffly on the sofa, staring blankly at the flickering embers, seemingly lost in a daze.
Barty stood silently behind the sofa. He didn't speak. He didn't move.
He merely stood there, staring intently at his father.